Happenings in Russia
Even on the plane bound for Russia, I opened my laptop.
Naturally, it was to write.
"What are you doing?"
Sofya, who had been asleep until a moment ago, rubbed her eyes and asked.
"Hobby."
"Hobby? Oh—that historical research thing you do?"
"Ah. I never told you, did I. The research is a cover. Writing novels is my real hobby."
"Novels?"
"Alternate history novels, to be precise."
"What's that?"
"Better seen than explained. Take a look yourself. It even made the news in Korea, for what that's worth."
"Making the news… is that actually something to brag about?"
"Anyway, I'll send you the link. The first twenty-five chapters are free."
"And after that?"
"A hundred won a chapter."
"You're going to take royalties from your own wife?"
"In front of my writing, everyone is a reader."
"You're impossible. Fine. I'll read it."
While Sofya lost herself in the story, I hammered away at the keyboard myself, determined to keep my promise to the readers—my serialization schedule.
I almost got exposed because of the wedding.
The marriage had been decided so abruptly that I was too busy to breathe, let alone keep up a regular release schedule. In the end I claimed "personal reasons," took a two-week break two months before the ceremony, stockpiled chapters, and scraped by on a three-days-a-week schedule.
Thanks to that, readers might call the author lazy—but at least talk of the author being the Emperor had quieted down. Especially since a new chapter went up right on the wedding day. The theory that writer Lee Myeongbok equaled the Emperor was finally dying out.
In its place, other theories had taken root: that the author was a court official in the Imperial Household, or a graduate student, and so on. Even those were fading under a growing mood of "maybe we should ease up on digging into the writer's private life." My double life was, for the moment, safe.
Still… what am I supposed to do now?
My novel currently covered the reign of King Heonjong. I had already written the country as a complete mess—and what came next was Cheoljong, Gojong, and Sunjong. Essentially, I had to write the fall of the nation. Was that even allowed?
While I fretted, Sofya finished the free chapters and tapped my shoulder.
"No wonder this made the news. I've always thought your imagination was a little unhinged, but I never expected it to come completely off the leash like this."
"But it's fun, isn't it?"
"I can't deny that. It's so different from real history that you can't help wondering what happens next. Come to think of it, Russia should show up around this period. How are you going to write Russia?"
"Hmm… honestly, I haven't thought about it much."
This Korean Empire had been trading with Europe for a long time already, and contact with Russia had come far earlier than in the world I used to live in. Because of that, quite a few readers of my novel My Korean Empire complained that the only foreign countries that ever appeared were China and Japan.
"You must have at least some idea of the direction, though."
"Sure. One path sticks close to real history. The other goes completely off the rails."
"Hmm. Then why not flip everything upside down? That sounds more fun to me."
"Does it? If a living Russian says so…"
Well, it wasn't as if anyone was going to translate this and ship it overseas. I could afford to put foreign history through the wringer a little.
So I padded out a solid chapter, queued it for scheduled release, and prepared for landing with a clear conscience.
The Russian Empire. In this alternate world, communism had never split the globe in two. There had been a Red-White Civil War, yes—but the Russian Empire, backed by the Korean Empire and other monarchies, had won.
In return, the Korean Empire had been "ceded" the Far Eastern territories and secured resource rights across Siberia and Alaska. Looking at how they had sucked Alaska dry of resources they couldn't really hold, then expanded only as far as a manageable Far East, I had to assume that, too, was the work of some future-souled Emperor.
Surely my own kids won't end up with weird future souls stuck in them… right?
The thought crossed my mind, but there was no way for me to know, so I decided to let it go.
I packed away the idle speculation. The moment I stepped off the plane, the Tsar of Russia filled my view.
Well, if an Emperor is visiting, matching protocol means the Tsar has to show up.
"Welcome to Russia, young Emperor."
This Russian sovereign was Alexander V. Honestly, I had never known much Russian history even before arriving in this world, so the name stirred nothing in me. If anything, I knew the Russian history of this timeline—the one with the Korean Empire—better than the original.
The clear differences: the Soviet Union had collapsed in under three years, and the capital of present-day Russia was not Moscow but Saint Petersburg. And for all the grand title of "Emperor of All the Russias," this Russia, too, had adopted parliamentary politics and democracy after the Red-White Civil War.
Too many nobles had died during the war for the Emperor and aristocracy to govern as before, and the revolutionaries had nearly all died fighting for the Reds. In the end, the moderates had gathered and rebuilt the country into what it was now.
On the surface, at least.
After ascending the throne, I had gained access to a great many classified documents—including those from the Red-White Civil War. During that conflict, the Korean Empire had secretly supported both the Reds and the Whites, deliberately prolonging the fighting. In the end it had thrown its weight behind the Whites—on terms highly favorable to the Korean Empire—and along the way had eliminated the "extremists" by various means. Dumping hardline restorationist White generals onto hopeless fronts. Feeding the locations of their meetings to the Reds so that terrorist attacks would wipe them out. In short, the Korean Empire had done a very British job of it.
In any case, when two figurehead monarchs met, the script was obvious: photos at every opportunity, pleasant words, polite laughter, greeting nobles at the banquet…
And naturally, among those "nobles" was my father-in-law.
Pyotr, Duke of Novgorod, faced the young Emperor standing before him.
It was not their first meeting. However distant Russia and the Korean Empire might be, it was not so far that a man would miss his daughter's wedding; a plane ride closed the gap in no time. But that day had felt more like attending the state wedding of the Emperor of the Korean Empire than the marriage of his precious only daughter, and the thought still rankled.
How to put it… he had never quite managed to act the part of a proper father-in-law. The ceremony had simply rushed past him while he stood there gaping.
So he had steeled himself for today. Foreign Emperor or not—this was Russia, his own backyard.
"It's been a while."
"Ah. Yes. First time since the wedding, Father-in-law."
Look at that scrawny build… at this rate, when am I ever going to see a grandson…
He hadn't gotten a proper look in Korea, but face-to-face like this, the boy was not exactly his idea of a son-in-law.
"Son-in-law. Can you hold your liquor?"
"Pardon? Liquor?"
"A man ought to be able to drink. Today I'd like to sit with my son-in-law, share a few glasses, and have a real conversation. What do you say?"
"Yes. Gladly."
"Haha! Now that's a clean answer! Excellent. Then we head to my house!"
"The banquet isn't over yet. Is that all right?"
"No one can stop a family affair! Not even His Imperial Majesty! Besides, my sons are still at the hall—if I slip out alone, it won't be a problem."
So that's the game. Get me drunk and fish for the truth in vino veritas.
I shot a look at Sofya, who had somehow appeared at my side. She sighed quietly and nodded.
Looks like I'm about to live large for once.
A duke wouldn't serve cheap vodka. Heh heh heh.
My father-in-law's house was the Novgorod ducal house, but the title had only been established after the Red-White Civil War, so the family residence was a grand mansion in Saint Petersburg. The trip did not take long.
After a rough tour of the house—not because I listened roughly, but because Father-in-law explained it roughly—the two of us settled into a small sitting room. Sofya excused herself to go see her mother, whom she had not visited in some time. More likely she simply had no desire to watch the coming drunken showdown.
"Here! Have a glass!"
"Thank you!"
Conversation did not stretch far. Father-in-law seemed content to keep filling the glasses until I was properly drunk, and asked nothing of substance.
We started with vodka, then moved on to whiskey, cognac, grappa, slivovitz, and back to vodka—a round-trip tour of European spirits.
At this rate we'll be full of nothing but alcohol.
"You… hold your liquor better than you look…"
"Haha. I've never lost a drinking match to anyone."
I had always been a strong drinker, and during graduate school there had been few days without a glass in hand. Father-in-law, for all that he was Russian, was a man past middle age and looking toward old age. Naturally, victory would be mine.
"Fine, you're amazing, you little brat…"
"Heh… I may not look it, but I am an Emperor, you know."
Trying to pry information out of a walking state secret with nothing but alcohol? Not a chance.
All that remained was to prop up my collapsed father-in-law and call the servants waiting outside—then my perfect victo—
About thirty minutes later, servants who had come in because the talking had stopped carried two men, dead drunk and asleep on the floor, to their respective rooms.